


Blacksmiths and Armies, Tigers and Mice

by ForeverNever



Category: Coriolanus - Shakespeare, Coriolanus-Donmar, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Alternate History, And now is remarrying because his wife died, Angst, But it starts really shitty, Coriolanus never got kicked out of Rome, F/M, I REGRET NOTHING, It Gets Better, Mention of Virgilia, So much angst you guys ugh, Who is dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5774476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverNever/pseuds/ForeverNever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Acantha is a young woman of eighteen when she is married off to Caius Martius Coriolanus--a man known as a consul, a general, a soldier, and a man with a terrible temper, who has seen more battles than nearly any other man in the Roman Empire. And won each one. Acantha must now face her duties as a wife, woman of the household, and mother to Coriolanus' two young sons from his late first wife. But while Acantha comes to care for the children dearly, her husband remains a stone wall, incapable of emotion or care for either Acantha or his sons. Can Acantha overcome what has been placed before her, or is Coriolanus a man who cannot be helped?</p><p>(Based off of Tom's Hiddleston's Coriolanus.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, first off, thank you for reading this! I know it starts out really awful for poor Acantha, but as the story progresses things change. Secondly, I put this in the tags but it's important to note that this is an alternate history (if you can call it that). In this story Coriolanus is never exiled from Rome, never goes to Corioles, and never tries to mount an attack on Rome. So basically, the whole play never happened. He fought, he conquered Corioles, he came back, he was made consul, and that's it. Also, Virgilia (Coriolanus' wife in the play) has died in childbirth, which is why Coriolanus is remarrying. 
> 
> Sorry for the long introduction note, but it's important to understand the background here. I loved Tom Hiddleston's Coriolanus, and this idea's been bopping around in my head for quite a while. I think it's time to share it. I hope you like it!

It was one month after the golden Virgilia died that Acantha was wed.

Acantha had not met her husband at all, though her father had agreed heartily to the marriage proposal. But of course, who would not, when the general of the Roman armies and one of the most outspoken but beloved consuls asked for your daughter’s hand. Acantha had no follies concerning this matter; Caius Martius Coriolanus required a wife, and a mother to his two young sons—including the infant whose birth was his mother’s death. Acantha would fulfill that role, and nothing else. And there were wide shoes to fill.

And so Acantha was wed. She knew few things of the man they called Coriolanus: one, that he had nearly lost his consulate before it had even begun, two, that he was the most fearsome soldier and commander Rome had seen in many years, and three, that he had before been married to the perfect woman. The late Virgilia had been a tantamount wife and mother—beloved by everyone, well known in social circles, and hailed as incredibly beautiful. Acantha, who was but eighteen years of age, knew already she could not compare. The look in her husband’s eyes as they were wed told her as much.

Of course he appraised her, as it was only natural. He was, after all, marrying her. Though Acantha had never seen the lady Virgilia, she could see that she did not meet the high standards that her predecessor had set. Where Virgilia’s hair had been shining and golden, Acantha’s was a dark brown that neared black. Where Virgilia’s skin had been flawlessly pale, Acantha’s was a more olive, darker tone. Where Virgilia’s eyes had been a piercing blue, Acantha’s were a deep chocolate. Acantha had not yet truly grown into her body as Virgilia had, though she was well old enough to be married off, and where Virgilia had desirable womanly curves Acantha was built more or less a stick. She was too tall, and too lanky, and as she watched Coriolanus look at her for the first time during the ceremony she knew that he saw that too.

Still, she held her head high. She was the daughter of a well-to-do nobleman, a consul and a businessman, and she had long been raised to keep her wits about her in public. It would not do to make a show. She had known her beauty would not compare, and so she must double her efforts as a wife and mother.

The ceremony finished without a hitch, only requiring a few terse words from Coriolanus to complete the marriage contract. Acantha had always considered herself adept at reading body language, and she knew from the tight set of her new husband’s shoulder and the tick of his jaw that he was mightily displeased. And he had a notorious temper.

It also became quickly apparent that he held quite a bit of contempt for social gatherings. It was considered socially reprehensible for the newly married couple to make away before the end of the first day of celebrations, and they had hours yet before nightfall. Hours which, it seemed, Coriolanus was determined to spend in as much solitude as possible. Which was none.

Acantha had to admit to herself that she was not expecting so many at the festivities. She had known, of course, that the marriage of so notorious a man would bring many gossiping eyes and ears, and that by the end of the week all of Rome would be comparing her to Virgilia—but so many people? They absolutely thronged her and her new husband, and while Acantha did her best to smile and make nice with as many faces as she could (many of which she recognized as members of high society, though names failed her) Coriolanus seemed to do nothing but grunt and glare.

That did not deter people, especially men, from clapping him on the shoulder or wishing him congratulations with lewd winks. Of course everyone knew what would happen tonight. Acantha tried not to think about it.

The ceremonious meal seemed to go on for a small eternity, until finally the newly married couple was ushered out to complete their union. The jeers and shouts made Acantha’s face heat up to the very tips of her ears, though she tried not to show it. The heavy doors were closed behind them, and as they walked further away from the still partying crowd a heavy silence settled.

Though she had been beside Coriolanus all day and night long, Acantha had yet to hear him speak aside from his clipped acceptance of their marriage. And he certainly did not speak now. He wove through the halls of his home with a swift gait, as if determined to leave Acantha in the dust behind him, but Acantha’s legs were long and she remained only a few hurried steps behind him. He did not speak to her, or look at her, but acted as though he expected her to follow. She supposed he did.

She had to admit to herself that she had held some girlish hope, a fantasy of sorts, that Coriolanus would set his eyes upon her and welcome her into his home, his life, his family. Though she had known no such thing was to pass, she could still feel the sting as that hope faded away. The servants all kept their eyes down, avoiding their master as though they knew he was moments from unleashing his wrath, and Acantha could only feel a sense of foreboding. As the doors of the wedding chamber—her bedroom, their bedroom—clanged shut behind them, she could feel them close on the life she had known.

Gooseflesh rose on her bare shoulders, a cold creep of fear lacing up her spine. She didn’t know what to do. Her mother had told her the mechanics, of course, and warned her of several things in her usual businesslike tone (don’t tense up, it will hurt more; don’t fight him, it will make him angry; don’t expect gentility, he will not show it). None of those words made Acantha feel anything but secure, and here in a room with Coriolanus alone—the most hot-headed and dangerous man in Rome—she felt like a lamb before slaughter.

Coriolanus shed his shirt with a swiftness that startled Acantha, and terrified her. His back was to her, but now she could see the corded muscles of his arms and shoulders. He could easily hold her down and take from her. She stood in mute horror, her heart pounding painfully where she bit her tongue, waiting for him to turn on her. He kicked off his boots, flinging them away, and then he slumped into bed.

Acantha stood, still beside the doors as though she were a frightened rabbit. She waited, wide-eyed, for her new husband to assert himself, to order her to him, even to turn and look at her. He had not set eyes on her since his first dubious perusal upon the alter. But he remained with his back steadfastly and immovably to her, and said not a word. It was as though he did not care whether she joined him—or whether she slept on the floor.

After a long pause, Acantha gathered that he would not speak. It seemed she would get no direction from him.

Toeing off her sandals as quietly as she could, and placing her bridal jewelry on the ground beside them, she slowly approached the bed. There was nowhere else for her to sleep, and Coriolanus surely would have ordered her to do something else if he wanted her to, right? He did not move as she slid carefully into the bed, being certain that she touched no part of him. When she was not reprimanded, she settled herself on her side, back to him, pressed as close to the edge of the bed as she could be without falling off. She did not remove her clothes, or slip beneath the sheet.

There she lay, stiff as a board for she knew Coriolanus was not asleep, her every sense attuned to any movement from him, which never came. It seemed he wanted to remain still as well, lest he accidentally touch her. She kept her defenses up, unwilling to be caught unawares, and knew neither of them would see any restful sleep this night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acantha faces her first day as the wife of Coriolanus, and the dawn sees as many frights as the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so...sorry :( I know it's been forever since I updated this, and I apologize. But I hope you like this chapter! Please let me know if you do, it helps me stay motivated. Have a great day!

It was the piercing cry of a babe that made Acantha startle. It was the shallow, dark hours of the morning, and though she had by no means been sleeping she had not expected such a shrill sound. It seemed not to bother Coriolanus, who remained unmoved behind her. She tried not to move, either, but she had always been a caring kind and she hated to hear a child cry.

  
Her child.

  
That revelation slammed down on her like the might of Zeus’ thunderbolts, bringing a sharp and horrifying clarity to her thought. That was not just any child now—as the wife of Coriolanus, his children were now hers. That was her child who cried into the night.

  
She had known this before. She did not know why the responsibility felt suddenly crushing.

  
Acantha quickly shifted to sit up, fully planning to find the babe and see to its needs, but before her feet could touch the ground Coriolanus stopped her with a bitten command. “Stop,” he said, not moving to face her, but immediately Acantha stilled in fear of his anger. “The wet nurse will see to it.”

  
Acantha hesitated, looking at the broad back of an unstoppable man. He certainly did not seem concerned, and surely he would know better in his own household, but still the child cried. “Perhaps I ought—“ she started, her tone placating, but stopped when Coriolanus’ shoulders bunched.

  
“I said no,” he stated. “Lay back down.”

  
Acantha knew a tone that brooked no argument, and slowly lowered herself back onto the bed. Her instincts were warring with her better judgment; yes, a child was crying, but a man so rich as Coriolanus certainly had a wet nurse. He could not have cared for the babe alone the past month, so of course there was someone to see to the baby’s needs at night. But still, she could not relax.

  
The baby’s wails filled the darkness, becoming more and more distressed as no one went to see to him. Acantha struggled not to squirm. Where was the wet nurse? Surely she should have reached him by now. It wasn’t as though the nurse would be housed too far away to hear the baby’s cries, or too far to get there quickly. But as time stretched on and the screaming continued, Acantha felt her compassion overriding her training to obey. She tried to push the slowly welling panic down, telling herself that the wet nurse was simply having a hard time calming the child, but she couldn’t quiet the worry any more than she could quiet the babe.  
Perhaps something had happened to the wet nurse. Acantha had not yet met the woman, perhaps she was ill or old or hard of hearing. Perhaps she was none of these, and had tripped and hurt herself on the way to the child. Perhaps she had abandoned her post for the night, and there was no one to calm the baby.

  
Acantha’s whole body wound tighter and tighter. Where was the baby, anyway? She hardly knew these halls. The child could be anywhere, and though he sounded relatively close the halls had many twists and turns. Acantha could get lost looking for him. But then again, how hard would it be to simply follow the noise? She squeezed her eyes shut, fists balling against the sheets. How could Coriolanus stay so unmoved?

  
Another scream shattered the silence, and Acantha could take no more. She swiftly stood, ignoring the sounds of Coriolanus shifting for the first time that night. “What are you doing?” he barked as Acantha made quick work of putting on her first sandal, glad she kept them so close to the door. Acantha did not answer.  
Out of the corner of her eye Acantha saw her husband stand, looming powerfully in the dark. A shock of fear went through her, and she hastily said, “My lord, I fear something may have happened to the wet nurse, I shall simply—“  
“No,” Coriolanus said. Acantha looked up from her second sandal, stunned. No? With his child crying? The man certainly cut a terrifying figure, his jaw clenched and teeth white between his lips. His eyes glinted like steel, and Acantha knew she was about to find out just how volatile his temper was.

  
“I mean no disrespect,” she said in her most humble tone, ducking her head in supplication. She had to de-escalate this situation before it got out of hand. He was still on the other side of the bed, and she was closer to the door, but could she outrun him? Where would she go? “I wish only to fulfill my duties as a wife and mother—“

  
“I told you, the nurse will take care of it,” Coriolanus gritted, fists balled. “Your duty is to obey.”

  
“And obey I shall,” Acantha said, fear mounting as she watched the tension mount. “You are my husband and your word is my law, but is it not also my duty to anticipate the needs of your house?”

  
“I have given you an order,” Coriolanus seethed, looking ready to leap over the bed and wring the life out of Acantha’s body by force. “You will heed it.”

  
Acantha felt the bloom of anger in her chest. She was not a soldier, nor was she an object, and his child should not suffer for his father’s stubbornness. She knew it was foolish to retort, but something needed to be said. Before she could corral her polite tone, the cries abruptly ended.

  
Acantha whipped her head in the direction the cries had been coming from, listening intently. Moments passed and the child did not scream again. Acantha breathed out.

  
“There we are then, my lord,” she said as calmly as she could, untying her sandal once more. “I no longer have need to check the babe. Shall we lay back down?”

  
For long moments Coriolanus only stared at her, still rolling with anger, and she simply stared back. She did her best not to shift on her bare feet. It would not do to appear weak or uncertain—it was already abundantly clear to her that Coriolanus functioned as predators functioned, and that if she wanted to stay off of his menu then she would have to be strong.

  
After an intense period of eye contact, Coriolanus abruptly turned away and began to settle himself back into bed. Acantha could see how wound his muscles were, how ready he was to strike out, but it seemed even he understood the trouble it would cause him. Acantha had no one to turn to, but if in his rage he killed her then he would have to wait the assigned one month grieving period before he could marry again--and in that month all the duties of the house would fall to him, and him alone.

  
Acantha waited a short moment before walking back to the bed, once again lying stiffly and avoiding all contact with her new husband. She was exhausted, but the instinct of prey kept her awake. It was this way she would stay, she knew, until the grey of dawn greeted the sky and she could excuse her leaving as beginning her wifely duties.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Acantha's stomach rolled with nervousness and worry. The chariot of Helios had long since swept the sky, bringing day, and as expected Acantha had been horribly busy. She was briefed by the cook, the head servant, the gardener, the maids, the children’s tutor, and the wet nurse as to the daily workings of this house, and the logistics made her head spin. This was all her duty now; the workers would continue in their posts, but it fell to her to watch over them and ensure that every individual was working as they should.

  
The only solid order she had yet given was to the wet nurse, informing her that the length at which the babe had cried the night before was unacceptable and that aid must be more swift. The wet nurse had bowed her head and assented, not giving any reason as to her delayed action.

  
Acantha now faced the most daunting task of all. She had yet to meet her sons, and as a servant led her down the hallway towards the nursery she felt each footstep like a blow. She knew little of the children she now had to raise, save that the older of the two was known as Martius and was nearing the age of seven. Seven years. How could she possibly expect a child to accept her after knowing a different mother for seven years?

  
As they neared she could hear Young Martius speaking with someone--or rather, blathering at someone the way small children often did. There was no need for the other person to speak, nor was there a pause in the child’s monologue to allow for response. Acantha had heard her younger siblings go on like this, and her older brother's child too, but the idea that this particular child was hers to care for made her dizzy with fear.

  
She took a breath, deep and long, but it did her little aid before she stepped into the nursery. It mattered little, as all her breath was knocked from her upon entering anyway.

  
The first thing she noticed was not the room, not the lack of a crib, not the boy playing on the floor. The first thing she noticed was Coriolanus, standing tall and foreboding near the corner. She had not seen him since she slipped from the room at first light, and even with his weight on one hip and his arms loosely crossed he held himself as a soldier. A cold shiver of fear rippled down Acantha’s spine.

  
Coriolanus slid his eyes to her for but a moment before turning back to his son. Acantha unfroze, shaking herself. Young Martius had not yet noticed her standing in the door, and Coriolanus or no Coriolanus she wanted to connect with this child she would raise. She put on a smile, as genuine as she could manage, and stepped into the room.

“Are you young Martius?” she asked cheerfully. Martius turned his big eyes to her, with the natural curiosity children carried with them everywhere, then broke into a wide smile.

  
“Are you her?” he asked, jumping up and waddle-running to Acantha. Acantha sunk to the floor to meet him, his joy immediately infectious. “Are you my new mother?”

  
“No,” Coriolanus bit out, making Acantha’s head whip over to him. He had regarded her with casual apathy when she'd entered, but now he glared at her icily. “She's just here to take care of you. Nothing more.”

  
Martius looked up at his father with disappointed eyes, and Acantha couldn't bear his pain--or her own. “And take care of you I shall,” she said, capturing Martius’ attention again. She did not try to dispute Coriolanus; he had clearly denoted her place. “I'm so excited to finally meet you. What are you playing with here?”

  
“This--this is a stacking game,” Martius said, turning to look at the wooden rings scattered on the ground. His tiny hands still gripped Acantha’s to keep him steady on his wobbly legs, and he was completely distracted from his sadness.

  
“Oh? How do you play it?” Acantha asked, not nearly as distracted.

  
“I--I have to--like this,” Martius said, releasing Acantha and sitting down, grabbing a ring in a chubby fist. Acantha watched, pretending she had never seen this game before as Martius taught her how to place the ring on the peg, smiling and ignoring the way she could feel Coriolanus’ disapproving glare against her skull.

  
“And then I went to sleep, and it was nice, and the nurse gave me an extra pillow. A whole extra pillow! And it was soft. Dogs are soft. I've pet a dog before and I liked it and--” There was little Acantha could do but nod and hum, but Martius was busy playing his game and chattering as if Acantha’s entrance had never interrupted. “But the baby was loud last night and I had to put my pillow over my head--”

  
“Oh, I'm sorry,” Acantha said. “I could hear him all the way down the hall. It must have been very loud to be in the same room!” Martius looked up at her, confused.

  
“He's not in the same room as me,” he said, tilting his head.

  
“No?” Acantha asked. Where was the baby? She glanced around, finally noticing the distinct lack of infant materials. No crib, no diaper cloths, no swaddling blankets. How had she not noticed? Was she so thrown off by Coriolanus’ presence?

  
“I don't want my son around that babe,” Coriolanus said, giving Acantha a look that promised pain if she disagreed. She clamped her mouth shut, but couldn't keep the questions out if her head. That babe? Where did that contempt come from--was her new husband truly so heartless as to shun his own newborn son?

  
Acantha knew better than to say anything, though she could already feel her inner cheek getting sore from biting it. She had always been too outspoken. “I see,” she said instead, forcing her voice to remain light. She couldn't be fooling Coriolanus but Martius was too young to catch her strain. “Where is the child then?”

  
“He is on the other side of the hallway, my lady,” the maid said, head ducked. Acantha had nearly forgotten her presence, so close to the door was she. “And a few doors further down.”

  
“Very well,” Acantha said. “I shall have to go meet him in a moment.”

  
“But you'll stay and play with me?” Martius asked, pouting, and Acantha had to smile.

  
“For a little while longer,” she said, placing her fingertip on his nose the way her own mother had to her. He went cross-eyed trying to look at it. “So tell me, Martius, how are these two rings different? How do you know which one to put on the pole first?”

  
She watched Martius play, listening half-heartedly to his rambling explanation of the sizes of each ring. But really her attention was on the man still standing over her. Coriolanus seemed intent to never take his hard eyes off of her.

  
She would just have to stay on her toes.  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acantha tries to find respite within the house of Coriolanus, and faces the throng again for the first time since her wedding day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a new chapter for you! This is still building up to bigger plot points, but those will be getting up and running in the next update. Thanks for reading! You guys are the best :)

Acantha quickly learned that the babe’s nursery was Coriolanus’ blind spot in the house. He seemed completely unwilling to go inside, or even stand by the door such was his loathing for this child. He had never even given the poor babe a name. 

“Good morning, little one,” Acantha said, shutting the door behind her. The second nursery was small and bare, hardly more than a closet particularly compared with Martius’ room, but it was Acantha’s respite. She’d had a chair brought in, and she often spent the midmorning hours sitting with the babe in her arms. She and Coriolanus had settled into a silent, uneasy truce, and she felt able to sleep--carefully, but she slept, though she did not get true rest. Once she rose and saw that the early morning work was being cared for properly she could snatch some of that rest back here with the youngest child of Coriolanus. 

She settled into her spot in the chair, the warmth of the swaddled baby in her arms. He was a beautiful child. Martius was too, of course, but Acantha had long had a soft spot for infants. And this babe was so calm--calmer by far than the other children she had known. He fussed, of course, usually at the worst possible moments, but he was rarely scared and settled into Acantha like she was home. She loved this pink, pudgy boy. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I shall have to go to the market before the evening meal,” Acantha said. She was shaking in her sandals, but she did not show it. 

Coriolanus only looked at her. This was the first time she had sought him out in the two weeks she had been his wife, but she had no choice. He was the man, he was the one with the money. After a moment he grunted, arms crossed. “Follow,” he said, and she quickly fell into step behind him. The longer she had been here the more she was certain he would leave her behind and blame it on her for her own slowness. 

He stopped before a door Acantha had never seen the other side of. It was one of the men’s rooms that she was forbidden from--his study, this one, if she recalled. She stalled outside as Coriolanus barged inside, uncertain if he was asking her to follow, but he returned before she could figure it out. He held forward a gold bar and the sharp but small knife used to cut it, plopping it unceremoniously into her hand. He simply dropped it once it seemed she would catch it--she almost did not, she was so surprised--and Acantha suspected it was as much a show of apathy as an attempt to keep from accidentally brushing her fingers with his own. 

“Will that suffice?” he asked. Acantha blinked down at the gold. How could it not be enough? It was nearly a full bar! 

“Yes,” she said instead. “I shall bring what remains back to you.”

Coriolanus grunted, and that was that. 

Acantha wondered about him as her maidservant tied her hair up in a more elaborate fashion. He seemed utterly out of touch with the runnings of his own household; any fool who had gone to market would know that he has given her twice over what she would need to buy three weeks of food. How could he have run this house on his own in his month of mourning? But then, he had probably just sloughed the duty off on some poor servant. His previous wife must have seen to it all for him, which was why he needed Acantha. 

“Is this well, my lady?” the maidservant asked, and Acantha surveyed herself in the mirror. It was essential that she be presentable, as a trip to market was quite the public thing. She had put on finer clothing and carefully applied her makeup, though her skin was too dark to use the paling powder the other women wore, and mentally prepared herself. As the newlywed wife of a beloved consul and general there would be high expectations and much idle chit-chat, and most importantly gossip. It would look ill not only on her but on Coriolanus and all his house if she was ill prepared. 

“Yes, that is well,” Acantha said. “Fetch me three or four maids. We shall make for the market shortly.”

And it was just the chore she had anticipated it to be. She had a careful line to toe; she must walk with her head held high, but not too high lest she be deemed haughty. She must be dressed in the latest fashions, but not too expensively or she should be seen as wasteful of her new husband’s fortune. She must appear to be capable of commanding the maids who accompanied her, but not without some level of demureness for she was a woman still. Most importantly, her stress and growing frustration could not be shown, least of all to the other high society women out and about, all of whom wanted to speak with her. 

She heard many congratulations. “What a lovely ceremony!” and “Such a lucky woman you are.” Some even welcomed her into their ranks, inviting her to light mid-morning meals which would be doubly as stressful as this trip to the market. But Acantha smiled and nodded, agreeing enthusiastically--the social domain was the woman’s work, and wives commiserating was often a precursor to business between husbands. 

More importantly, it gave Acantha a reputable reason to leave the prison of that house. It gave her people she could talk to, even if formally, and women she may yet be able to befriend. She could tell already she would need it; even the last two weeks had starved her of interaction and she found herself jittery and poor of health. 

“Truly it must be a marvel to be married to such a man,” said the woman she spoke to now. “My husband lacks for nothing, to be sure, and I am a lucky woman myself, but you have truly struck gold my dear.”

“Thank you kindly, Lady Corvinia,” Acantha smiled, keeping her joyful expression carefully on her face. She must not look ungrateful, and she must not look greedy. 

“Between the two of us, I must admit that I imagine him quite the lover,” Lady Corvinia winked conspiratorially. “Tell me please, is he so wild between the sheets as he is outside them?”

“Oh, my lady, I couldn’t possibly divulge,” Acantha said, forcing herself to flush as she looked to the ground to hide her disgust. Lady Corvinia giggled. 

“Oh, look at you, you have the glow of marriage about you!” she crowed. 

“As do you!” Acantha said. “You were wed not long before I. Tell me now, how fares your house?”

Acantha pretended to listen raptly as Lady Corvinia prattled on about her own recent marriage, letting the information go in one ear and out the other. She should be listening closer, she knew, for gossip was necessary and the goings on of other houses could always be used at opportune moments, but she hadn’t the energy. She had successfully steered the conversation away from an uncomfortable topic, and away from something she knew Lady Corvinia would seek to use for her own gain as well. Acantha was grateful that the woman before her was also so new to the world of wifely duties, or else she may have faced more pointed questions.

“Oh yes, tell me of the little ones!” Lady Corvinia gushed. “I’ve yet to have one of my own. Tell me, do babes cry so much as I’ve been told?”

“The youngest does not, no,” Acantha said. This she knew how to talk about--it was safe territory, and speaking of it made clear that she had truly taken the duties assigned to her as a new wife. She kept her mind sharp, but allowed a moment’s relief. “Though I find it odd, in truth. My younger siblings often cried in the wee hours of dawn, but this child is for the most part gentle as a lamb.”

“It must have been wonderful experience growing up with children around,” Lady Corvinia said. “I do wish I’d had the same luxury.” Acantha laughed good-naturedly.

“It seemed not so much a gift when I was younger,” she said. 

“What do we know as gifts in our childhood years? Still, you seem truly happy, Lady Coriolania,” Lady Corvinia smiled, and it was suddenly a struggle to keep Acantha’s emotion from her face. Lady Coriolania--she had known of course that this was her name now, she had agreed to it seemingly long ago. But to hear it thrown in her face, to hear her identity molded into nothing but a marriage with a hateful man, she felt like she had lost something central to herself. 

“I am happy,” she forced out, and was relieved when her voice did not sound strained. The children, she told herself. Think of the children and have joy. “Truly the gods have been kind to me.” 

They talked a moment longer, small talk Acantha would not remember, and parted ways with hollow promises to remain in touch. It had happened so many times in the day, and Acantha was so tired. She felt emptied out, as a jug that had once held water but had been poured dry. It took so long, so terribly long, and by the time the servants were so burdened with the purchased food that Acantha had a reasonable excuse to make away her cheeks ached and her eyes felt like grit. 

The only kindness the gods had given her was that she smiled well enough to fool the world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acantha makes it out of the house at last, and makes headway with a few other ladies. She needs the time away, but her return is heralded by a very angry Coriolanus.

It was another gruelling week before it was seemly for Acantha to appear in public again, and she took the opportunity immediately. She was wearing thin--she was making mistakes. It was not the lack of sleep or the amount of work, those she had been trained for. It was the emotional toll, the forced isolation she had lived in for near a month now. She needed to get out, just for an afternoon. So she went to prandium at the house of Vestalis. 

It was a reasonable thing, and important, so she knew she would be given leave to go. She hadn’t even said a full sentence before Coriolanus grunted that she could attend--he probably wanted no more to do with her than she did with him, but she had to ask and he had to approve. She found herself here nonetheless, and at the moment that was all she needed. 

Lady Vestalia, wife of the consul Vestalis, had invited four women, of whom Acantha was the youngest. Lady Scauria was closest to Acantha in age, only two years older, and the ladies Lepidia and Jullia were older than that. Lady Vestalia herself was second oldest, at near thirty, but as this was her home and she the hostess she held automatic respect. 

Immediately Acantha found herself bombarded with questions. 

“Tell me, Lady Coriolania, how fares your house?” “How do you find your husband?” “Are the children well mannered?” “Do they take to you well?” “How many slaves has your husband?” “Does he seek any new business relations?” “Was your wedding night eventful?” “How does the staff respect you?” 

Acantha did her best to stay calm under the assault. This was a right of passage. She answered the questions coolly but not without attachment, careful not to give away any weakness or let slip any bit of gossip. She smiled at the right points, blushed in the right places, laughed with the other ladies. She observed all the rules of etiquette, sitting properly and eating daintily. She left the smallest amount of food on her plate at each course, a vision of feminine abstinence and gratitude. She revelled in the closeness, however artificial.

“Tell us of the babe,” Lady Jullia asked, and all the ladies leaned closer. 

“Yes, do,” Lady Vestalia urged. 

“Oh, it was so hard to leave him to come to you!” Acantha said. “He is a tad small for his age, but I see that the wet nurse feeds him properly. He will grow yet. He is so stoic, you would scarcely believe it.”

This was clearly not what the ladies wanted to hear. “That is lovely, especially as the misfortune the babe has wrought,” Lady Scauria said, subtly prompting Acantha’s response. 

“How horrible it is, to imagine a child’s first act in this world be the killing of his mother,” Lady Jullia said, hand on her chest. The other ladies nodded and hummed, as though Acantha were not there. Acantha felt suddenly rankled. She hid it. 

“Yes, the death of Lady Volumnia is most tragic,” Acantha said, meaning it in the depths of her heart. “Though I never met her I have heard that she was a kind and pious wife and mother, a woman I strive to emulate. Perhaps if the midwife had paid more attention…”

“What?” Lady Lepidia gasped. “What ever happened?”

“I do not know if I should say,” Acantha said, making a show of chewing her lip. 

“No please, do go on,” Lady Vestalia said. 

“If the hostess wishes it,” Acantha acquiesced. “But please know that I mean no disrespect to midwife Caelia. I only repeat what has been told to me by the wet nurse.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Lady Vestalia said, the ladies all leaning in. 

“Well, as I have been told the lady Vergilia went into labor early in the morning,” Acantha said. This was true. “Her water had broken some time before, but she had been sleeping and merely supposed that the weight of the baby within her had caused her to have an accident in the night. I have heard that such a thing is common during pregnancy.” The ladies all nodded. “Well, once the lady, rest her soul, realized she was giving birth she called for the midwife, but the midwife had taken away after waking. The wet nurse said she saw the midwife quite often stealing away with one of the kitchen boys.”

The ladies gasped. “She ran off with a slave?” Lady Lepidia said. 

“She did not run away, but they often went missing for hours together,” Acantha said. “The kitchen boy would return dishevelled and flushed in the way that...well, you understand, I’m sure.” The ladies looked to one another, aghast and entertained. Acantha felt a wicked thrill--they hung on her words. “But that is merely speculation, and I do not wish to cast blame. The fact is that wherever the midwife had gone away to, and whoever with, she did not return until Lady Vergilia had entered the worst of the contractions of her labor.”

“How horrible!” Lady Scauria cried, eyes wide as saucers. “Did no one seek to look for her?”

“They did, of course, but the did not find her,” Acantha said. “It is a true shame. Perhaps she heard them calling for her and did not wish to be discovered. She simply arrived too late, and the babe was halfway born already. The stress of the labor, and the fact that the poor boy was twisted around, was too much for Lady Vergilia’s body. She sadly passed away shortly after the boy was born. The wet nurse said she simply fell asleep and did not wake again.” 

There was a moment of stunned silence, in respect for the dead, and Acantha sent up a prayer to the gods that the lady of whom she spoke would not be angered with her for telling such lies. 

“The worst is that,” Acantha paused. “The worst is that the poor babe will spend the rest of his days blamed for his mother’s passing. He will be seen as an ill omen all his days, and none will ever seek to reach out to him in business or friendship. What kind of life is that for a man of such high birth?”

“Oh, how terrible!” Lady Vestalia lamented. “The poor, desperate babe.” 

“To be held accountable for such a thing!” Lady Jullia cried. 

“Yes, I’m afraid it is true,” Acantha said. “He shall never know the joy of success, all for the fault of a reckless midwife.”

“No, it shan’t be!” Lady Scauria declared. “I shall tell all I hear speak such what you have told me today. The poor child!”

“Please, I do not wish misfortune on the midwife,” Acantha said, the vision of mercy. 

“But it must be so! You said her name was Caelia?”

“Yes, that was she,” Acantha said. This was also true--that had been the name of the midwife Volumnia had sought. “But she had delivered the first child with no mishaps.”

“Nonetheless,” Lady Vestalia said, “she shall be no midwife of mine.” The other ladies agreed. 

“Then that is your choice,” Acantha said respectfully.

“But what of the slave?” Lady Lepidia asked. “The kitchen boy. What happened to him?”

“Oh, I had him released from the service of my husband’s house immediately,” Acantha said, as though it were horribly obvious. “He was sold to a trader and taken elsewhere, I know not where.”

“Most sensible,” Lady Jullia nodded. 

“Yes, it had to be done,” Lady Scauria said. “Such a wise decision.” 

The other ladies agreed, and the conversation moved to other topics. There were no more intrusive questions, and Acantha knew that she had passed the test. She had gained the trust of at least these ladies, and she felt a vengeful joy. She had forged an alliance at last--and the ‘news’ of Lady Volumnia’s death would spread through the upper classes like wildfire. The midwife would nevermore see work, but none would ever blame her baby again. 

 

\---

Coriolanus was in a stormy mood when Acantha returned to the house. He paced like a lion in the gladiator’s ring, waiting for an unarmed fool to jump upon, and the moment he saw Acantha attempting to make quietly away he whirled on her. 

“Where have you been?” he hissed, but Acantha was tired and still high on her triumphs with the ladies and would not be cowed. 

“I have been at the house of the consul Vestalis, taking the midday meal with his wife,” she said calmly. “Just as I have told you.” 

“It takes two hours to eat a light meal?” Coriolanus sneered. 

“A plate shared between ladies is a social affair,” Acantha responded, nearly--nearly--talking down to him. But she was not so much a fool as that. “The consul Vestalis is a near opposition to your views in the consulate, is that not true? A careful word from his wife may sway him, if placed in his ear at the opportune time. Should I not become close with her?”

“Is that your plan then?” Coriolanus asked, voice sharp and eyes heated. He stalked toward her, and though fear flashed through her it raised something yet unfelt--anger. “You think yourself capable of meddling in the affairs of men? Or do you intend, perhaps, to sway me as you would have me believe you sway others?” 

“I have no sway,” Acantha rebutted, “not yet. I gained acceptance today, but trust comes in time. That is what it takes to reshape a mind, and I shall never have it from you so you needn’t worry yourself.” She knew what she was saying was dangerous, but she was so, so close to a tipping point. She was worn thin and haggard and she had never been one to be beaten down. Her mother had tried to teach her, but it had never quite taken hold, and if it killed her tonight then so be it. Coriolanus could find another wife. 

And with her nose to Coriolanus’ chest, glaring up at him with something nearing defiance, he looked as though he would kill her. He looked as though he, too, were approaching some break from the strain, as though he were the one most affected. Acantha balled her fists. 

“Where do you think you would go,” Coriolanus growled, “if I turned you out onto the streets and claimed you defective? Do you think your father would take you back? Do you think you would find some kind stranger?” 

“I do not bank on kindness,” Acantha said, scathing him. “And I do not believe you will turn me away, for then you must take up the reins on this household. I know nothing of the world of men, that is true, but then you know nothing of the world of women and you have no more capacity to be a wife than I do to be a husband. Would you have a slave run your house for you, mighty Coriolanus?” 

Coriolanus’ nostrils flared, his teeth gritted so tightly that Acantha could nearly hear them grinding, such was their proximity. She was well aware that his hands, so much stronger than hers, were just as tightly balled as her own and that she could never fight him off if he attacked. But his eyes looked almost glazed, as if he only halfway saw her there in his rage, and in a moment of boldness she stared at him. Not challenging but informing him with her eyes--she was no Vergilia, but neither was she a handmaid. She would not be degraded any more. 

The proud soldier turned on his heel and stalked away. Acantha stood a moment, alone in the hallway, and turned herself toward the bedroom. Her sandals chafed, and she needed to take them off.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while :/ Oops. Sorry, guys, I had to finish up my college career. For now I should have enough time to do a little writing. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter! Y'all are awesome :)

It was that night that Acantha saw it for the first time. 

 

It was late when Acantha padded quietly into the bedroom, having spent the afternoon in the baby’s nursery. She had carefully snatched some sleep there, startling awake at every noise, but now she was awake and still on high alert from her earlier confrontation with Coriolanus. She had been wise to wait until such an hour--her husband was already asleep, resting woodenly on his back as though he were in a barracks. Her side of the bed was still cold and empty, and she carefully laid down. 

 

She faced away from Coriolanus, but she had been watching him intently as she approached the bed and it struck her odd how peaceful he seemed in sleep. There was a severity to the rigid posture of his body, but his face seemed to melt into relaxation. It was horribly off-putting. 

 

Acantha was still high on her nerves when she laid down, and sleep did not come quickly. She had considered at length staying in the nursery for the night, but she decided that the best way to move forward was to settle back into their arrangement as though nothing had happened. And besides, Acantha had as much right to sleep in this bed as Coriolanus, and she would do so. He needed to know that. 

 

It was perhaps a half of an hour, while she lay struggling for sleep, before it happened. She was highly attuned to every movement from Coriolanus at her back, and so she noticed immediately when his body went rigid. She tensed, laying perfectly still for he must have woken to see her beside him. Her heart beat loud in her chest; she wanted to leap out of the bed and run from the wrath that was surely about to befall her, but she forced herself to stay. She had to be strong, or be seen as a target. 

 

Then the murmuring started, quiet and indecipherable, and Acantha balled her fists in the sheets. But quickly she realized that he wasn’t talking to her, though she was the only person in the room. Was he having a night terror? But he did not thrash, in fact he did not move at all. But his speech became gasping, as though he were reliving moments truly horrific, almost begging, but Acantha could not understand his pleas. 

 

“The gates...close the...take the enemy...left! Left! Jovanulus! Left!”

 

Jovanulus? Acantha wondered. That was a nickname for the name Jovianus. Who did Coriolanus know so well that he would call out a nickname in his sleep? And why did he sound so frightened?  As the muttering fell back into indistinguishable words and gasps Acantha couldn’t fight her morbid curiosity and turned over in bed, carefully not jostling the mattress. She didn’t know what Coriolanus would do if he was startled awake just then. 

 

The unsettling peacefulness had disappeared, and what was left was much more frightening. Acantha had seen her husband angry, and annoyed, and even apathetic, but in this moment he looked...he looked like a lost child. His head tossed from side to side, though his body stayed rigid, and his breathing was so discordant that Acantha would have feared sudden dizziness on his behalf if he was not already laying down. His hands clenched and unclenched in the sheets, but he did not look like a soldier. 

 

It was clear that whatever plagued him in his sleep stripped away his strength, as though he were a lad again, barely old enough to be handed a sword. His severe face and all its sharp features had seemed to take on a softness, and in spite of herself--and him--Acantha found her ribcage contracting painfully. She hated him. She hated him with all she had. And she wanted to help him. 

 

It was her own nature, her innate desire and need to nurture others, to protect them. She hated him more for bringing it out in her, for she wanted to despise him with a ferocity enough to make her uncaring. But she could not, and she could not think of what she needed to do. Did he need to wake? Did he need to sleep through it? If she tried to wake him would he lash out, accidentally or purposefully? Did he even want her to know that this happened?

 

In the end, all she could do was watch. She kept her eyes astute, ready to jump towards or away from him if need be, until at last the murmuring faded in a final decrescendo. It had never been loud; it was no wonder she had not woken, if this had happened before. Slowly Coriolanus’ body relaxed back into the pull of sleep, the peace on his features more relieving--and terrifying--now than it had been before. Acantha watched a moment longer, but he remained still. 

 

Acantha was so tired, suddenly, as if Coriolanus’ struggle had sapped all her strength. She was unsure if she should risk turning back over, if Coriolanus’ sleep was not so deep as it appeared, but she feared more the idea of him waking to find her facing him. She turned, slowly and with her breath held, but he did not wake. It took only moments for Acantha to fall into deep, dreamless darkness. 

 

\---

 

Volumnia was coming. 

 

Acantha was vibrating out of her sandals, running from one place to the next and trying to keep some semblance of order as she scrambled to pull together an appropriate appearance. The food had to be cooked perfectly, with large enough portions to show how highly Volumnia was valued in her son’s home but not so large as to appear wasteful; the entire house had to be spotless to prove that Acantha kept the business of the house properly, nothing out of place; both the children and Acantha herself must be as polished and presentable as possible, while retaining some air of casualness for it could not appear that such work was difficult. And, worse, Acantha had only hours. 

 

That was the point, she mused for all of a half second as she helped young Martius into his tunica. If Coriolanus’ mother wished to see that Acantha met her expectations, then she could not give Acantha time to prepare. Any half-wit, given enough time, could look a queen. 

 

And it was to Acantha’s benefit that the house was, for all intents, nearly perfect. The servants of this house were no fools, and Acantha had only to make an order and see it fulfilled--many times not even this. The simplest of duties--the wash, the dusting, the beating of the rugs--these were completed on a daily basis without her prompting, as the head maid had informed her they would that first day here. Acantha had to see to the more delicate details, which were overwhelming especially with a guest of such importance, but as the noontime hour drew nearer and the stress higher Acantha found herself grateful that at least she had married into a house where the workers had some sense about them. 

 

Until, of course, she rushed back towards the private rooms, realizing at rather the last minute that she had yet to plait her hair. The maidservant who usually helped her was helping the wet nurse with young Martius, who had to be calmed from a tantrum, but this Acantha could do alone. She worked quickly, gazing into the mirror to ensure that all was pinned properly, but her nimble fingers started to tremble as she heard voices outside the room. 

 

“Why is it that the hag always comes at the last minute?” one voice asked. “Have we not enough work to do day to day, without this horrible mess?”

 

“Hush, Cassius! You could be hanged for such words!”

 

“But is it not true? Volumnia is not a lady but a snake, and she has her coils wrapped ever tighter around our master!” 

 

“You cannot speak of fear for our master while berating his mother, no matter how true the words!”

 

“I have worked in this house longer than you, Fabianus, I have seen far more of her treachery. She has long held our master in her hand. She rejoiced when she heard he had been injured in battle, for it meant glory! What mother cheers when her child is in pain?”

 

“The mother who hired you before my birth, servant,” a deep voice said. Even with a closed door between them Acantha’s blood ran cold. She stared blankly at her face in the mirror as the servant grovelled, but all Coriolanus said was, “Enough. Back to work.” She couldn’t help but notice that he sounded more tired than angry, and in fact he looked it too, for Acantha could see him in the mirror as he slid the door open. He was well dressed, well kempt, but his face was dull. She hated him for making her care. 

 

It took him a moment to notice she stood there, stalk-still before the mirror with her hands motionless in her braid, but when he did he only looked a moment before grunting in her direction and moving on. He plodded over to his sandals and started lacing them up, and Acantha felt it prudent to put her head down and finish her plaiting. 

 

Only, this was so odd a moment. She had never been in this room with Coriolanus when they weren’t sleeping or about to be, and she didn’t know how to take it. Coriolanus sighed as he straightened again, and she tried to avert her eyes from his reflection so he wouldn’t know she’d been peering at him. Was it her imagination or were his shoulders just the tiniest bit slumped? It was the only thing, besides his drooping eyes, that could have indicated anything was amiss--he was perfectly dressed for the occasion, both commanding and showing respect--but she feared him so that she was long attuned to the most fractional difference in his stance. 

 

Acantha quickly completed plaiting her hair and wound it into a stylish, but simple bun. It didn’t truly matter what Coriolanus felt, as long as he looked as though she’d taken good care of him for as long as his mother was there, and she had yet to swaddle the babe in something more befitting his status as son of a Consul. Though the change in her husband, perceived or real, put Acantha on edge she had still to complete her duties. He would keep himself separate from her, it seemed, and since he would likely want to thrash her for talking back the day before she deemed that a fine compromise. 

 

That was why, when he spoke to her, she felt herself lurch. She was nearly out of the room and almost tripped on her own sandal when she heard his voice. “Do you have any concealing cream?” he asked. Acantha’s mind run rampant. 

 

“No,” she said. Her skin was too dark for the pale makeup. “Shall your mother take offense?” 

 

“No, no,” Coriolanus waved her off as he stood straight again. Acantha felt panic swell in her chest. 

 

“If there is something amiss--” she began, though she had not seen any terrible imperfections of her skin in the mirror. Everything had to be  _ perfect _ for Volumnia.  _ She is not a lady but a snake... _

 

“I said no,” Coriolanus bit out. “I merely--” he sighed, rubbed his forehead. It hit Acantha how utterly exhausted he seemed. “My wife would-- _ Virgilia _ would...leave some out for me when visitors came. In case of dark circles.” Then Coriolanus scoffed, as if he couldn’t believe himself for saying such a thing to the spindly, jumpy girl before him. It was an admittance of weakness, one he never would have made if he had slept through the night, but Acantha had no time to dwell. “Have you no duties to attend at the moment?” Coriolanus asked, turning away. He wanted her to leave, his tone was clear. Acantha chewed on her lip.

 

“I do not have concealing cream,” she said, walking swiftly to her collection of beauty items, “but I do have a soothing balm. It’s just mint and olive oil, but it will help reduce the puffiness. It will tingle--try not to get it in your eyes.” She placed the small jar on the counter below the mirror, using a larger motion than necessary to ensure he saw it. “Leave it as long as you can before your esteemed mother arrives.” 

 

She did not wait to see if Coriolanus took her advice, turning swiftly and leaving the room with all the speed she could. Whether he used it or not was of little concern to her, she told herself, but if he were to grow angry at her she did not want to be in the room when it happened. She didn’t know why he would, but then she rarely did. 

 

In spite of the churning anxiety and stress of the final moments, everything was perfectly prepared by the time Volumnia arrived. Acantha stood smiling, well dressed and ready, with young Martius on one side and the babe in her arms. Martius released her hands and ran forward, saying, “Grandmother! Grandmother!” 

 

“Sweet Martius!” Volumnia grinned as the young boy hugged her tightly around her waist. “Oh, you look more and more like your father every day.”

 

“Mother, welcome,” Coriolanus said from behind Acantha, walking past her to greet his mother. Acantha tried to hide how greatly he startled her appearing like that, but was silently grateful that she wouldn’t have to explain to Volumnia why her son was not there upon her arrival. It was not until Martius released his grandmother that Volumnia met Acantha’s gaze, prompting Acantha to bow politely. 

 

“Lady Volumnia, it is wonderful to see you again,” Acantha said, her smile beginning to strain her cheeks. “If there is anything you lack during your visit please notify me, and I shall fix it immediately.” 

 

“I certainly shall,” Volumnia said. If it was a threat, Acantha couldn’t be sure. “You seem to have gained a glow since the wedding. Am I to expect a third grandson?”

 

“Second,” Coriolanus interrupted. Acantha had not noticed, but his gaze was hard and fixed to the child in her arms. She instinctively cradled the babe closer to her chest, for Coriolanus looked at him like a bear looks at a fawn. It is nothing but food to him. 

 

Volumnia did not seem to notice. “Oh, so you  _ are _ with child!” she said, coming closer. Bile rose in Acantha’s throat and she forced herself to laugh. 

 

“If it is so, I do not know it yet,” she said, “though I look happily to the day when I may be so honored as to bear the son of your son.” She hoped her downcast eyes looked demure--her stomach was rolling, and she feared that Volumnia would see the truth of her disgust if Acantha met her gaze. 

 

“Put that thing away,” Coriolanus said, teeth clenched. 

 

“The baby?” Acantha asked, startled. 

 

“Put. It. Away,” Coriolanus ordered. 

 

“As my husband commands,” Acantha said quickly, bowing again. “Lady Volumnia, I shall return shortly. The slaves will serve you midday meal at your leisure.” At Volumnia’s gracious nod Acantha turned and tried not to run. 

 

Only once she was in the babe’s nursery again she breathed out heavily, holding the child still against her. He was comforting, solid and warm against her in what suddenly felt like the only anchor in a storm. She choked out a sob, sitting heavily in the chair. The baby, jostled by the sudden movement and confused, began to whimper as though he would erupt into tears just as Acantha was, but she shushed him gently and rocked him back to calmness. 

 

Her own tears were not so easy to dry.  _ I am to bear child. I am to bear the child of Coriolanus, _ she thought. The words were heavier now than they had been when she’d thought them before--for of course she had thought them. She had been taught to think them. But suddenly, having the truth thrown into her face by a woman far more powerful than she would ever be, it was as inescapable a fact as this marriage. Someday she would have to conceive. Someday she would have to lay in bed beneath the harshness of Coriolanus’ body and accept his violence. She would have to pretend to be glad for it when asked in the street. Someday she would have to listen to Coriolanus call their child a  _ thing _ . She heaved, but nothing came from her stomach. She was already empty. 

 

When she finally became aware again of time, and of Volumnia’s presence not so far away, another wave of panic threatened to overtake her. What was she doing, sobbing here when she had to impress Volumnia? More terror clutched at her throat--What would Volumnia think? How long had Acantha been gone? Could she even make an excuse? Her face was a mess, she was sure, she couldn’t go out there like this--

 

She closed her eyes, trying to force those emotions down. She had to get through this meal. That was it, just this meal. “Focus on the immediate,” her mother had told her. “Women are not meant to dream about the future.” She managed to turn her stuttering breaths into longer, smoother ones, and though her eyes still burned she withheld the tears. She was not alright, but she could act like she was. 

 

She rose slowly, finding the babe asleep against her, and gently placed him in his crib. She immediately longed to have him back in her arms. He was so content nestled among his blankets, certain of his safety with her even when she was rocked by sorrow, and suddenly Acantha knew his name. Lebuinus; dear friend. Her only friend. She kissed him and stood, perfected her stance, and left to fix her makeup as quickly as possible. Volumnia was likely questioning her absence already and she had to go.


	6. Chapter 6

Mealtime was a lavish affair when entertaining guests, and at every stage Acantha found herself praying to the gods that it went without a hitch. The words of the servants kept ringing in her ears: The woman is as a snake, she has our master in her coils… And she could see that it was true. The mighty, terrible Coriolanus pulled together as much gruff politeness as he could, as if he were speaking to Jupiter himself and not a mortal woman, and it was easy to tell that Volumnia was the one who truly ran this household. 

From her seat on the floor beside her husband’s lounging couch, Acantha watched the interactions with a careful eye. Volumnia was like a no woman she had ever met before. 

“Tell me, dear, how has my son treated you?” Volumnia asked, turning her sharp gaze on Acantha for the first time. This was a trick question, and a painfully obvious one. 

“It is not his duty to treat me,” Acantha said demurely. “Rather, it is my pleasure to serve him. I can only pray that I have been satisfactory to him.”

“Is praying all you do?” Volumnia asked. Acantha chuckled, as if this were some kind of silly joke and not a disguised threat.

“My lady, of course not! The gods will not lend aid to those who do not see to their duties themselves. I am expending all that I have for this home to stay proper, and I strive to have more to give every day.” This wasn’t untrue--she was working herself to death. Volumnia smiled, pleased with Acantha’s answer, but there was still an edge to her grin. 

“You have great standards to reach, dear girl. I am glad to hear that you strive to reach them.” Acantha bowed her head gratefully. “Sweet Virgilia would be so pleased to hear you speak with such determination.” Coriolanus shifted where he lay on his side. 

“I like her,” young Martius piped in, wiggling only a little after all the time spent sitting still. Acantha’s face lit up with a genuine smile. 

“Thank you, Martius,” she said, feeling for a just a moment like she was where she was supposed to be. Then Coriolanus cleared his throat and motioned to the plate of grapes, and the moment was shattered. Acantha reached for the plate her husband demanded, lifting it to him gracefully, as was her duty. That was right--merely duty. 

“Oh, silly me,” Volumnia smiled, “to leave my grandson from the conversation so long! Have you started studies yet, son of my son?”

“Yes grandmother,” Martius said, excited to be pulled from the humdrum of listening to adults talk. “I can count up to a hundred now, and nurse says I can read better than the other boys.”

“He’s moving very quickly for a boy his age,” Coriolanus said as Acantha placed the grapes back on the table. 

“I am?” Martius asked, pudgy little face lifting in joy. Coriolanus was not a man to give praise freely, but when he did it was towards his son. For that much, Acantha grudgingly admitted she could not fault him. “How you know?” 

“Because the nurse says as much,” Coriolanus answered. Martius’ face fell a little. Of course he wanted his father to recognize his growth without it being pointed out to him, but even at his young age he knew better. His father was a busy man. Acantha glanced up at Coriolanus, whose brows knit when he noticed the change as if his son’s disappointment pained him. It was strange to see that on him--perhaps his lack of sleep had made him unguarded. Or maybe he truly loved this son. 

She could think on that later. “You know,” she jumped in, striving to make Martius joyful again, “I must admit to remembering that my own siblings were not quite so quick to learn as you. Even in the little time that I have been here, I’ve seen you grow in great leaps and bounds.” Martius smiled cautiously. 

“You have siblings?” he asked. 

“I have several,” Acantha answered, “but it is of no import now. They were merely my preparation for you.”

“Oh my dear, but surely you miss them?” Volumnia asked, sickly sweet. 

“In truth, Lady Volumnia, I wish I did!” Acantha joked. “As the oldest it was my duty to care for them, and while I of course love them I cannot say that I would return to their side. They are too used to me doing their work for them, and they are too old to be coddled so.”

“Yes, a firm hand with children is necessary to ensure they grow into capable adults. I was strict with you, wasn’t I, Caius? And look at what a fine man you have become.”

“Yes, mother,” Coriolanus intoned. 

Martius was released when the meal had ended, free at last to go play as little boys should. By then it had been nearly two hours and Acantha’s rear hurt from sitting on the floor, even with the plush cushion she sat upon. But at least the food had been perfectly prepared and presented, the wine poured without spills, and no terrible faux-pas made. At least, not yet. The plates may be cleared, but there was more yet to go. 

“Acantha, darling, tell me more about yourself,” Volumnia said. Up until now the conversation had revolved mostly around Volumnia’s favorite topic--herself--but Acantha had known this was coming. “You said you are not fond of your siblings?”

“Oh, no! I am quite fond of them,” Acantha said. “I am sorry if I gave you any impression otherwise. We share the bond of blood and grew up under the same roof, and so of course my love for them is endless. But in the last few years it has become apparent that they rely on me too greatly, that if I am present they cease all their chores, my sisters especially. Now that I am away, they must take responsibility and learn the skills they need to be strong wives and mothers on their own. I want to see them become the best they can be, even if it requires my absence.” Volumnia nodded thoughtfully. 

“A fruitful view to have,” she said. “Do you think they could be better than you?”

“I hope they will be, my lady,” she said demurely, “though I could not imagine them having greater fortune than I. I never cease to be shocked that I was deemed suitable to be the wife of such a prestigious man. Nonetheless, I hope it is the will of the gods that my sisters are as fortunate as I. I know they have it within them to become wonderful wives.”

“Then you are happy here? Wedded life is not too jarring?”

“It was a difficult time of transition, of course,” Acantha said, ignoring the first part of the question. “I am grateful that once the engagement was final my mother handed the running of the house to me, that I might feel more prepared.” This was a stretch of the truth--as soon as Acantha had her first bleed, her mother had declared her ready and left all of the responsibility in her hands. The home, the children, the slaves. One of her younger sisters had likely taken the burden now. 

“Lady Volumnia, I would be honored if you would share your knowledge and expertise with me,” Acantha said, knowing she had to steer the conversation back into more neutral waters. Somehow she suspected that Volumnia would see through any of her lies. “You are spoken so well of in social circles, and I wish nothing more than to be as composed as you.” 

“You have heard me spoken of?” Volumnia asked. 

“I have,” Acantha said. She knew better than to specify when or where. “In truth, I was quite intimidated to be meeting you.” That seemed to do the trick, and even though Volumnia likely knew Acantha flattered her on purpose she still preened a little in her seat. 

“Well, my dear, I will not tell you not to be, as a fair bit of fear is a powerful motivator,” she said. “The world of women is cutthroat and it does you well to be cautious. There are many who would seek to undermine you, and by doing so undermine my son.” 

“Thank you for your words of caution,” Acantha said. “I shall keep my eyes and ears sharp for all treachery.” 

“See that you do,” Volumnia responded. “This responsibility is new to you, I will help guide you. You show promise.” Acantha bowed her head. 

“I am most honored, my lady.” 

“Mother, do you wish to leave offering at the lares?” Coriolanus asked, stretching languidly in his chair. “This home was once yours--perhaps they would be pleased to see you again.” Volumnia smiled. 

“Why Caius, of course. How sweet of you to think to offer.” Acantha allowed both her husband and his mother to rise before she stood from her place on the floor, righting her stola in hopes it would hide the popping of her knees. Volumnia took her son’s proffered arm, seeming suddenly small beside the massive man, almost harmless. Acantha felt suddenly that she would have to be especially guarded around this woman. 

Acantha followed behind her husband as was her duty, wondering if the newly christened Lebuinus still slept soundly. She longed to go back to him, and had to push that desperate desire down again. Just an hour left, if that. She could make it through this. She would make it through this trial and she would go back to her baby, and she would hold him and tell him his name for the first time. Just one more hour. 

Acantha was glad she’d kept the lares shrine clean, though she’d done it more to avoid the wrath of the gods of the house than because she was grateful to have joined this home. If anything, she prayed for them to influence her husband to stay away from her. But the shrine was perfect to the eye, and with Volumnia in the home that was more important than ever.

She had expected Volumnia to step forward and pray to the lares, but she had not expected Volumnia to turn to her when she was done. Her sharp smile sent foreboding shivers up Acantha’s spine. “It is your turn, Acantha dear.” Acantha smiled, hiding her nervousness. 

“If it would please my husband that I pray before him,” she said. Coriolanus grunted. Acantha took a steadying breath as she stepped up to the small shrine, acutely aware of both sets of eyes on her. This was a whole different kind of test, and a brilliantly devised one at that. Acantha could lie to Volumnia, but she would not dare to lie to the gods. 

“Lares, gods of the home that has welcomed me, allow me now to thank you for your attentiveness to my prayers. I am ever grateful to your favor.” If you had not granted me this, my husband may have already killed me. “I pray today that I may continue to please you, and for the health and happiness of my husband.” For if he is happy he will not hurt me, and if he is healthy he may go back to war. “I pray for my husband’s sons, that they may become even greater men than their father, and for all the blessings of Olympus to befall them. I pray that I am enough for this household, and for my family, and if I am not I pray that you teach me.” That’s the only way to stay alive, after all. “For all you have given me, undeserving of this household though I am, I thank you.” 

Acantha placed her fingertips to her lips, then briefly to the stone of the ludus to seal her prayer, all the while thinking that not a soul alive deserves this household. Then she stepped back, bowing her head respectfully and keeping her eyes humbly on the floor. She could feel an almost viciously pleased aura emanating from Volumnia, who assumed she had proven Acantha’s true nature from this test. To that viper of a woman, this was a victory. Coriolanus, however, remained passive. 

“What a fitting prayer,” Volumnia gushed. 

“I said only that which needed words,” Acantha said. 

Volumnia, puffed as a peacock, went to the ludus to pray herself, but Acantha let the words pass one ear and out the other. It was the closest thing to rest she would get until Volumnia saw fit to leave. Then she could return to her babe.


End file.
